


and it's just a new routine

by atlasky



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-22
Updated: 2015-02-22
Packaged: 2018-03-14 13:25:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3412265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/atlasky/pseuds/atlasky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Apparently, Sam Wilson has a type and it is emotionally unavailable women. (Or, the Avengers give love advices and Sam wonders what his life has become.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	and it's just a new routine

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Do not own.  
> Note: This is me shamelessly throwing out all comic and movie canons out of the window. Sorry about that. Been trying to get back into writing for a while now. This probably also has been done a lot, so sorry about that too. Please point out any mistakes you spot so I can fix them. Also please do leave a review because I would love to hear your opinions, thank you. This story also has been posted on fanfiction . net under the account paperplanet because (shameless self promotion, I know) that's my account there. You can also find me on tumblr as madhattersdagger. Enjoy! :)  
> .

.

Apparently, Sam Wilson has a type and it is emotionally unavailable women. It doesn't bother him because in between his social work and military job, his love life sort of fell short in his priority scale. And then the next thing he knows, he is leaping down from a giant hellicarrier fighting against remains of HYDRA. So it's sort of a thing now, jumping off to defy death with Captain America.

He doesn't mind. He kind of misses the thrill. He's also saving the world and helping people, those have always been a good thing. He thinks he's not actually meant to stay away. He thinks Riley would have wanted him to do this.

So he's thrown into the Avengers initiative, had stark redesigning his wings, met Bruce Banner (he will never not admire the guy) with a bonus of tons of tea making tips, trained a couple of times with Barton, and actually shook hands with the god of thunder himself. Yes, he kind of got the gist of what's in store for him when he threw his file on the table in front of Natasha and Steve—still, it did not prepare him of the string of people hurrying through his front door of his life without any sign of leaving any time soon. It's kind of a nice change. True, Sam is never short of friends, but with these people—it's different, he can tell. He doesn't know why. It's just different. A good different.

Anyway, he doesn't think about this new daily routine of being an Avenger (Well, technically. Nothing has changed except he's being called on missions and Stark continuously reminding him that 'You're one of us now, Wilson.' As he gleefully shoots missiles at him during training to test his wings.) because he kind of takes it for granted. He's busy, anyway. He doesn't have the time to ponder.

It all strikes him, how weird his life has become—when he's sitting in a bar at half past midnight drinking beers with (a drunk) Clint Barton. "You know what I don't get about you, Wilson?"

"What?" He takes a sip of his drink. He's been nursing his beer, hasn't been drinking much since that night started. The mission they had was particularly rough and he knows Barton needs to let loose some steam. Sam needs to be the designated driver.

"You're like, the perfect guy. Why are you still single?" Sam chokes on his drink. Coughs. Once. Twice. Barton is apparently not drunk enough to not look amused.

"No, but seriously. You're the kind of likeable nice guy and you're an official superhero now. You don't look half-bad either."

He doesn't know what to say to that so he smartly says, "Uh… Thanks?"

"Is it something to do with your flirting skill? Because I can help you with that."

"I—," he blinks. "I'm okay, actually. I—uh, I just broke up from my girlfriend not so long ago."

He leaves out the part where he hasn't yet gotten rid of the rest of her stuffs from his apartment. It's just that he has been in enough messy relationships that he doesn't really care about those kinds of things that much anymore. He's unlucky like that. Also, Sam's last relationship was one of the least messy he has had. It actually didn't end with a screaming match (although his ex-girlfriends always did the screaming part). And in fact, it was rather civil—the way they ended it. So that might also be one of the reasons, though he won't ever admit it.

Clint frowns. "Did she break your heart?"

"No," he's not sure why he's trying to explain his romantic relationship to Clint Barton. "We—uh, we wanted different things." He's not sure why they're talking about it at the first place.

The other guy claps his back in what Sam's sure supposed to be a friendly manner, but Clint has one hell of an arm and sheer amount of strength too much for someone that size and Sam almost falls from his seat.

"Don't worry, Wilson. We'll find you a girl."

"I'm not—," he says. "I'm not worried."

"Sure you aren't," says Barton.

Sam sighs.

* * *

 

"So I heard that you're looking for a date."

Trying his damnest to look at her through the sliver of light in the darkness, he barely has the ability to say anything than: "What?"

Natasha rolls her eyes and repeats, "A date, Wilson. I heard you're looking for one."

He almost gapes at her. Besides of—no, he's not currently looking for a date, there's also the small fact that they're currently captives in the hands of HYDRA. There was an unaccounted factor during their latest raid, and here they are. The cell that they're in is musty and dark and the cuff on his hands aches while he's trying to remember plan twenty three—that's the extraction plan, right? He swears he's going to start giving more creative names to them. Don't they know the danger of mixing up number fifty six of summer meeting and fifty seven of missile plans?

"I'm not looking for a date," he tells Natasha—who apparently thinks being captured by HYDRA a perfect timing to do matchmaking.

She tilts her head and leans back. "I know this girl and I think she's perfect for you—she's an accountant and she likes old music. You'll like her."

Sam says, "I like all kinds of music. But uh, no thank you. And—I mean," he lifts his bound hands helplessly in front of him. "Don't we have bigger things to worry about?"

Natasha shrugs. "I'm multitasking," she answers. And then Sam hears a clink and she stands up, hands free. He has given up being surprised by Natasha Romanoff for a while now. But somehow he's still always surprised.

She kneels in front of him and prods at his own handcuff with a small pin. "So you're not into accountants. That's fine, how about nurses?"

"How long have you had that thing?" He asks. "Uh—there's nothing wrong with being an accountant."

"Long enough," she says. Sam rubs his sore wrists with relief when she freed them. "Give me something to work with, Wilson. What type of girl do you like?"

"What's our plan?" He stands up and tries to peek through the gap of the metal door. He can't see anything. He realizes in dismay that although the cell is old and rusty, there's no way out of it because it's still pretty solid. "And I don't have a type."

"Everyone has a type, Sam. Also—I might want to stay as far away from the door if I were you."

"I really don't have a type," he says again as he warily steps away to where she's leaning against the wall on the other side of the small room. Then, as if on cue, there's the sound of an explosion right outside the door. It is big enough that the whole room rattles.

"About time," Natasha murmurs. She walks to stand in the middle of the room and crosses her arm in front of her chest. The door creaks open and Steve is there, holding his shield and looking at them. Faintly Sam can hear Hulk's roar in the background between the sounds of gunshots.

"Are you guys alright?"

"What took you so long, Rogers?" Natasha says, not actually asking as she saunters to pass him through the doorway. She pauses briefly to pat his arm. "I was just finding Wilson a date."

"Ah," Steve says with a knowing expression, turning to look at Sam.

Before he can open his mouth further though, Sam holds up a hand and glares at him as he brushes past the blond man. "Don't you dare, Steve."

Steve merely grins.

* * *

 

 

They're at the Stark Gala, which he only attends because he's apparently invited now, and it's weird, being there and seeing everyone dressed so formally. He's so used to seeing everyone covered with dust and dirt. He comes without a date, which he realizes is a bad idea only after Clint throws an arm around his shoulder and makes a comment about plenty of fishes in the sea. He just hopes Natasha's not going to throw him into some sort of matchmaking scheme. To his relief, she doesn't. To his dread, Stark does.

"Wilson, I'm going to be your wingman."

The billionaire walks up to where Sam has been standing and throws the statement out of the blue. Sam doesn't even have the time to respond because he rambles on uncaringly, which, is nothing unusual. Sam's used to Stark forgetting about his existence whenever he's visiting the lab. In social settings though, Sam cherishes being able to fly under his radar. Preferably to avoid situations like now. "I know you've been looking for a girlfriend, and we'll find you one. I'm your bro for the night."

"Tony," Sam starts, "I'm not looking for a girlfriend."

Tony grabs two glasses of champagne from a passing waiter and hands one to him. "No need to be intimidated, my success rate is pretty high—but tonight is all about you. So, don't worry. Besides, I've got Pepper now."

He says, "That's great Tony, but seriously I'm not—"

But then Tony yanks his arm and pulls him over to where a couple of girls are standing.

"Excuse me, ladies," says Tony loudly because that's his default volume and Sam's eardrums feel like they're about to burst. "Have you met my friend Sam Wilson?"

He can't escape Tony and his attempts to find him a girlfriend (why is everybody so damn determined for that? He's not looking for one, people, seriously.) for the rest of the night. Suffice to say, that party easily becomes one of the worst nights in his life.

* * *

 

 

Thor's at Asgard.

So at least that's some salvation for him.

He doesn't even want to know what the demigod is going to do if he's around.

* * *

 

"Have you tried meditation?"

"No, I haven't. Sounds interesting though."

"You should. During my time in India I learned quite a few things about it. I can teach you—if you want."

"Sure, why not?"

"People have been known to find clarity from meditation. From various personal problems, mostly. Family—or even uh, broken hearts."

"Seriously, _you too_? What the hell, Bruce?"

At least Bruce has the decency to look sheepish.

* * *

 

"Maybe you should just ask someone out," Steve suggests one day when Sam's complaining at him during one of their morning runs. The Avengers have become more and more relentless in their efforts. He's been avoiding alone time with Thor since he got back to Earth, thank god he has been spending all his time with Jane. Tony has been setting up completely fake and exaggerated online profiles for him. Natasha comes up to him with thick folders that look suspiciously like official government reports of girls she thinks will suit him. Bruce's attempts are probably the lack there-of, instead merely smiling at him in that disarming way of his whenever Sam shoots him a look that is practically crying for help whenever the others approach him. Clint actually went so far as to trick him into a blind date the other day. "Get it over with."

Sam raises an eyebrow, panting a little. "How long did it take for you to ask Natasha out, again?"

Steve says, "Have you met Natasha?"

Sam ponders that for a second. "Fair enough." They're probably one of the weirdest couple Sam has ever encountered, but they work well. He sighs. "Can you just tell them to back off? I swear, one more time I have to deal with any of this, Rogers—I'm quitting. Good luck finding my replacement."

"Alright, yeah," Steve says, chuckling. He's actually amused. _That bastard_. "I'll tell them to back off."

"Thank you."

They stop jogging after a few more rounds. Sam bends his knees before sitting down beneath a tree, leaning back. Steve takes a sip from his bottle of water. Not that he looks exhausted for even the slightest bit. Damn super soldiers. Sam doesn't get why he keeps saying yes to Steve's morning run. It's just one of those things.

"Okay, you're not interested in finding a date," Steve repeats, throwing the bottle of water to Sam who catches it effortlessly. "And everyone should stop trying to meddle with your love life because you're doing just fine."

"Precisely," Sam deadpans. They're great people. They just don't seem to understand personal boundaries. At least, not when it concerns his love life.

Steve, still looking amused, stretches his arm. "Race you for one last round?"

And really, he's going to play dirty and make the guy trip for looking so smug over his suffering. "Oh you're on, Rogers."

Sam fails. Steve laughs. Sam hates Steve Rogers and hopes the guy chokes on his lunch.

* * *

 

He doesn't see her around that much.

Besides from the battle at DC and a few other Avengers occasions, he only catches glimpses of her. But then she takes the job at Stark Industries and suddenly those few times become more and more frequent. It's just—you know. She's different. It's suddenly becoming a theme in his life, different things.

But she carries herself with an air of confidence and perhaps way more stoicism than normal human and Sam respects her for that. They get assigned on missions, sometimes. And while she's brief and sometimes curt, she watches his back and he watches hers. Still, she talks to him sometimes. About important and unimportant things. They're not very long conversations, (because Sam likes to listen but she doesn't like talking) and most of the time they spend their time in silence.

She's complicated.

She's okay.

Then one day they're out on a stake-out mission cramped out in a van that smells like stale milk and he tells her a joke and she laughs, suddenly and unexpectedly. Sam blinks and thinks— _damn_ because—he likes her. He likes Maria Hill.

Natasha's words flitted through his mind and he thinks— _Oh_. So he has a type.

Still. It's not like he's going to act on his feelings. He's content with the way things are right now. They're almost pleasant. Well, if you count chasing the remains of Hydra around the world out of the equation, of course.

It's not another two tentative months of missions and awkward conversations on his part that they're sitting in the Stark tower with Clint talking about the next mission when the other guy yelps suddenly, stands up, darts his horrified eyes between the two of them and runs screaming for Natasha.

Sam's not going to pretend it's the weirdest thing he has seen from Clint. Apparently Hill's used to that too. So they ignore that.

The briefing ends and Sam's walking her to the elevator under the pretense of going to the same direction because he's sort of hopeless that way when the door on his left in the narrow hallway opens and hands are pulling him inside.

Everything happens so fast Sam only has the chance to blink. Bruce puts two cup of hot coffees into his hands while Natasha fixes his shirt. Barton slips mint into his pocket and Steve taps his shoulder in what seems to be an encouragement. Tony pokes his head to the hallway and says: "Hill, you're dismissed for today."

And then they're pushing him out of the room again. He stumbles, struggles with the coffee cups, and she's there, staring at him with a lifted eyebrow.

He regains his footing, feels the flush creeping on his neck. "Hill, I mean—would you like to have coffee with me?"

Her gaze turns analytic and it seems like forever but in the end, she gives him a small shrug with her lips twitching into what passes for a small smile.

"Sure." He grins.

Alright. He owes _them_ one.

Damn the Avengers.

* * *

 

Thor congratulates him with an hour long phone-call. It only gets disconnected because Sam runs out of battery.

* * *

 

**End.**


End file.
